Rex Brandon #1: Death Warriors

By Denis Hughes

“Fans of Tarzan and Doc Savage will feel right at home with Rex Brandon.” — PaperbackWarrior.com

When geologist and big game hunter Rex Brandon set off into the African jungle to prospect for a rare mineral, he knew dangers lie ahead. Two previous expeditions had never returned. George Traski brought back rich samples from the deep interior — but refused to say where he found them. Instead, he insisted on mounting a second expedition for a more detailed survey. Then he vanished ...

More recently, Professor Shaw and his daughter went missing after following in Traski’s footsteps. Brandon decided the time had come to locate the mineral deposit, and find the missing explorers. But he little realized to what dangers his own safari would be exposed ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bold Venture Press
• Release date: Jun 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215135297

Denis Hughes

denis hughesDenis (Talbot) Hughes (1917-2008)Born in London, England, Hughes was the son of noted Victorian artist Talbot Hughes. He was training as a pilot during WW2, when a serious crash ended his flying career. Attracted to writing by the expanding post-war market in paperback publishing, his first book (an espionage thriller) was published in 1948.Over the next six years, an astonishing more than 80 novels followed, chiefly westerns and science fiction, with a dozen jungle-adventure novels.In 1950, his UK publisher Curtis Warren had launched their six-novel Azan the Apeman series, written by “Marco Garron” (David Griffiths), commissioned after the hugely successful Mark Goulden/W. H. Allen (later Pinnacle Books) reprints of ERB’s Tarzan novels.But the ‘Azan the Apeman’ banner was such a blatant copy of Tarzan that E.R.B. Inc. threatened Curtis with prosecution unless the books were taken off the market.To cover their losses, in May 1951 Curtis Warren brought Denis Hughes into the writing seat and a new series of jungle adventures began, this time featuring his original character, Rex Brandon. To capitalize on their earlier series, Curtis Warren issued the books under the byline of ‘Marco Garon’ (only one ‘r’ in ‘Garon’).These fast-moving action-packed novels books were successful enough for the publisher and author to issue a further six titles in 1951, and another four in 1952. Most of these short novels have decidedly fantastic elements, and are infused with the same weird imagination Hughes displayed in his many ‘science fantasy’ novels. All of them are set in the African jungle, except for the last one, Mountain Gold, which, exceptionally, is a ‘straight’ adventure set in the Yukon.When his main publisher collapsed in 1954, Hughes switched to writing exclusively for the established D.C. Thomson, famous publisher of boys’ papers. Until his retirement in the 1980s Hughes became one of their mainstay (albeit anonymous) writers for such comics as Victor, Hotspur, Wizard and Warlord (the latter title inspired by Hughes’ “Scarlet Pimpernel” type WW2 secret agent character, Lord Peter Flint, alias ‘Warlord’.)Because most of his novels had been published pseudonymously, Hughes fell out of print for many years, until researcher Philip Harbottle revealed his authorship. Since then all of his ‘lost’ novels are currently being reprinted under his real name.

Book preview

Jungle Warriors

Rex Brandon #1

Denis Hughes

(Writing as Marco Garon)

Bold Venture Press

Published through arrangement with Cosmos Literary Agency

Copyright

Editor: Philip Harbottle, Cosmos Literary Agency

Book & Cover design: Rich Harvey, Bold Venture Press

Bold Venture Press, June 2023.

Available in paperback and electronic editions.

Published through arrangement with Cosmos Literary Agency.

©1951 by Denis Hughes;

© 2023 by the Estate of Denis Hughes. All rights reserved.

Originally published in 1951 by Curtis Warren, LTD.

This is a work of fiction. Though some characters and locales may have their basis in history, the events and characters depicted herein are fictitious.

No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from Cosmos Literary Agency or the publisher.

The Rex Brandon: Jungle Hunter stories are works of their time. Occasionally, certain outdated ethnic characterizations or slang appear, which contemporary readers may find objectionable. To preserve the integrity of the author’s words, these obsolete aspects have remained in place for this edition. The text is presented as it originally appeared.

Contents

Copyright

Death Warriors

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

About the author

About the publisher

Death Warriors

1

Seekers Die

Winging north from the coast, the aircraft flew over dense mangrove swamp and tangled jungle country. Here and there it passed over small clearings, each with its cluster of round thatched dwellings and groups of gaping natives who stared upwards open-mouthed at the silver-winged machine as it roared overhead.

Despite the fact that they were travelling swiftly, the two men in the cabin of the plane were conscious of the steamy heat that rose in waves from the ground beneath them. It caught the aircraft and lifted it, only to drop it again with a sickening bump a few seconds later.

The pilot, a lanky young man with sun-bleached hair and a ready smile, glanced sideways at his passenger.

Just about ten more minutes, Mr. Brandon, he said. "Mandibarza will be hot as an oven!’’

Rex Brandon stared ahead through the curved perspex shield in front of him. The thought that a few more minutes would see the first stage of his journey completed brought a sense of excitement to him. Experienced as he was, there was always a recurrence of that first excitement whenever he started a new adventure. Brandon was the sort of man who made adventure from even the ordinary, everyday things of life. There was some quality about him which prompted friends to say he was born a century too late. By rights he should have been in the ranks of the early pioneers, exploring, probing, seeking to wrest the secrets from the dark silent places of the Earth. But even so Brandon, in the prime of life, made adventure for himself.

Now he leaned forward slightly in his seat, straining his shoulders against the safety straps as he peered ahead through the steamy haze that rose from tracts of jungle below. The distorted shadow of the aircraft bobbed and jerked as it sped across the dark green treetops to starboard.

The young pilot shot another glance at his passenger. This was the first occasion on which he had met Rex Brandon, but the fame of the well-known geologist and big-game hunter was legendary. The pilot was aware of the extraordinary strength of Brandon’s character. He admired him a great deal, and would have given a lot to have been able to join him for the duration of whatever mysterious trip Brandon meant to undertake in the almost unexplored interior that lay ahead. But Trevor was only a charter pilot. He sighed and gave his whole attention to the task of taking his aircraft across the jungles of Nigeria towards Mandibarza.

Brandon, for his part, quietly acknowledged the skill with which Trevor did his job. But his mind was busy with other things. Why, for instance, had he been summoned so mysteriously to Mandibarza by a man of international importance? It was a question he could barely wait to have answered. The answer would be forthcoming when the plane eventually landed on the narrow airstrip. But Brandon was still impatient. He disliked impatience on principle, yet there were times when he fell a victim to it himself. A wry smile crossed his sun-burnt features for a moment. No man was perfect, he reflected. He relaxed in his seat again.

Queer what a fascination the most uncomfortable places of the world have for men, he remarked. These jungles, for example... No one could call them attractive, yet a lot of men spend a considerable amount of time in cutting a way through them. Why, I wonder?

Trevor grinned boyishly. It was the first time Brandon had spoken more than a few words since taking off from Lagos.

I was thinking the same thing myself a few days ago, he replied. I still don’t know the answer. He glanced at the compass above his head, checking automatically.

Something to do with a sense of attainment I suppose, said Brandon. What’s Mandibarza like? I’ve never been there before.

Trevor grinned again. You won’t think much of it! he replied. Half a dozen bungalows, a lot of insanitary native huts and the airstrip. That’s about all—apart from mosquitos, flies and heat, of course!

Brandon nodded. More or less what I expected, he said.

Excuse me asking, went on Trevor, but is this a big-game expedition you’re going on?

Brandon hid a smile. He doubted if game was to be his only object in the interior, but guarded instructions had told him that big-game would do as a cover for whatever else he was to undertake.

Yes, he said softly. Plenty of game in these forests. I might even bag a gorilla or two.

Two or three minutes later a break appeared in the dark green mantle of foliage ahead. Trevor gave a satisfied grunt. They were dead on course.

There’s your destination, Mr. Brandon, he said

The plane began to drop at a steep angle as Trevor went in to approach. Cut from the steamy haze of forest that hemmed in the little settlement of Mandibarza, the airstrip was exactly like a length of dirty ribbon stretched out on the ground. At one end of it, nearest the town stood a wooden bungalow, starkly white against the shadowed ground. A long veranda fronted the building its corrugated iron roof offering some slight relief from the intense heat.

As Trevor brought the plane down low at the far end of the runway Brandon caught sight of a big Ford station wagon rolling to a halt by the bungalow.

That’s the charter company’s office, said Trevor. Fellow named Barnet runs it. He was more or less the man who started the service out here. Nice chap. No one thought an airline route to Mandibarza would be worth the cost of opening up, but Barnet was sure of himself. Oddly enough, it’s paid off dividends, too.

Brandon nodded as the wheels of the plane touched the beaten earth of the airstrip and bounced a couple of times. Then the plane was down and running in towards the office building.

Two men in white ducks were standing by the station wagon in front of the veranda. Trevor taxied the plane almost up to the building and switched off the engine. The two men by the station wagon strolled across towards the plane. A third man detached himself from a deck chair under the shade of the veranda and joined them as Brandon and Trevor alighted. From inside the bungalow a native boy appeared with a tray of tall glasses, a bottle of squash and a soda syphon.

Nice to see you, Brandon, said the oldest of the men, smiling and extending his hand. He was a plump, red-faced man, perspiring in every pore. His handshake was limp.

Brandon smiled amiably. He had met Lornsby on one or two occasions before, had not taken a very great fancy to the man. However, Lornsby was quite an important person, and if he was here in Mandibarza to meet Brandon there was some good reason behind it.

Lornsby introduced his companion/a tall, stringy looking Frenchman who had obviously spent the greater part of his life in the tropics.

Brandon, this is M. Lecot, said Lornsby with a wave of his hand.

The Frenchman bowed slightly. His angular face broke in an engaging smile. Brandon liked him immediately, sizing him up at a glance as a straightforward, reliable person with a sense of humour that showed itself plainly in his eyes.

The third man of the trio was already deep in conversation with Trevor, the pilot. He was Barnet, in charge of the airstrip at Mandibarza. The entire party made their way to the welcome shade of the bungalow veranda, where Barnet supplied their needs in the form of long, cool drinks handed round by the attentive boy.

Conversation was confined to the weather, the heat and the flight up from the coast. Brandon contented himself with taking stock of his companions, saying little himself. He was intrigued by the presence of Lecot, though he had already had a hunch that his mysterious summons might have something to do with the uneasy international situation that faced the world. Although Lornsby had not mentioned the fact, Lecot was an extremely influential man in French Equatorial Africa. The knowledge whetted Brandon’s curiosity, but it was plain that he would not learn much till the three of them were free to talk without strangers to listen.

Presently Lornsby rose to his feet.

Well, he said a shade pompously, I think we ought to be on our way, Brandon. Lots to talk about, what? Have to get organised if you’re going to bring back all those wild animals! He laughed fatly, his double chin shaking.

Brandon and Lecot rose as well. Lornsby wiped his neck and forehead with a large red handkerchief. The heat was oppressive, but Lecot seemed to have sweated out all the